Dusky Rose
by GarnetVengeance
Summary: Balthier and Fran, as a male hume and female Viera pair, have become too famous for their living as pirates. So Balthier decides to switch up their dynamic. With a dress. And some heels.


Fran sighed, gazing gloomily into her wine before taking another – rather generous – drink. She knew she shouldn't, that Balthier needed her sober for their plans, but really, this whole situation was just so _ridiculous_, and she wanted nothing more than to simply drink until she forgot this ever happened.

Alas, the Gods were not so kind to her this day.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I believe my companion is getting lonely all by herself."

"We'd be happy to keep you both company." One of the noblemen replied with a leer.

"And I you, but I fear that Viera aren't quite as adventurous as I." A light titter, and Fran resisted the urge to groan, instead taking another long drink of the fine wine.

"Come now, Fran." Balthier prompted, joining her by the wall, "You could at least _pretend_ to be having a good time. Dance, at least."

"You've been doing enough dancing for the both of us, Balthier." She said lowly, glancing sidelong at him.

He grinned, "And no easy task in these heels, let me tell you." He lifted his skirts to reveal the six inch heels adorning his feet.

She rolled her eyes, throwing back what was left of her wine – not much. Her ears twitching, she nodded - "A new dance partner."

He sighed dramatically, "Honestly." He said, snapping his fan open, "I really wish I wasn't quite so gorgeous. My feet can't take much more of this."

Fran allowed herself a small smile, "You need only dance a little more." She replied smoothly. Balthier shot her a glare, but turned his attention back to the young nobleman approaching. He bowed, deeply, snatching the hand that wasn't furiously fluttering the fan before Balthier's face in an attempt to conceal what masculinity makeup could not.

"If I might have your name, Madame?" He said, smoothly – Fran barely restrained herself from laughing. Trying to pick up someone who played around with women as often as Balthier with such a line, it really was laughable.

"Balthia, noble sir. And please, I am a miss, my mother is a madame." His voice, played slightly falsetto, warbled dangerously – Fran guessed he was as close to laughter as she.

The two, after all the world-saving and country-restoring, had become far too infamous for their own good. A Hume male and a Viera female, an odd pair to begin with, now stood out in any crowd, instantly marking them as the famous pirate pair, something which didn't greatly contribute to their living as pirates.

Thus, Balthier had decided to switch up their pairing. Instead of a man and a woman, they would be two women. Fran had vehemently argued that she could just as easily (if not moreso) dress up as a man, but Balthier had insisted, saying that he would, under no circumstances, allow Fran to cover her 'bloody gorgeous legs'.

Fran had the secret inkling that he simply wanted to see how fantastic he'd look. And, garbed in a gown of deep reds and golds, his auburn hair slicked back (as compared to up, as was his wont) and his face rouged, he did make a fine, if strong jawed, woman.

She'd never admit it to him, but he knew it, and reveled in it.

"Miss Balthia, then." The man said, still holding Balthier's hand. "If I may have this dance?"

"Oh, good sir, I fear I must decline." Balthier cast his falsely-long-lashed eyes down. "I'm afraid I've been dancing the night away, and leaving my poor friend here all by herself. I fear she might disown me if I continue to do so."

"Oh, no, Balthia. Please, do not restrain yourself on my account. Enjoy yourself." Fran smirked at the glare Balthier shot her. If he was to continue with this farce, she might as well enjoy herself.

"No, no, I mustn't." He gritted out, pulling his hand – somewhat forcefully – from the nobleman's hand. "Please, sir, find another – look, there is another lady without a partner." He gestured offhandedly at a blonde-headed woman nearby.

The nobleman frowned, but took the hint, bowing politely and taking his leave.

Balthier frowned, snapping his fan shut and turning to Fran, "You're enjoying this far too much, I think."

"I could say the same of you."

He 'hmm'ed noncommittally, glancing at the large clock on the wall of the grand ballroom, "Besides, I don't think we've time for another dance. It's almost time."

Fran nodded, pulling herself up from where she'd been leaning against the wall.

Balthier glanced about, making sure no one was near enough to overhear, "I'll head down to the basement, you take the balcony. Once I get down there, you-"

"Balthier?"

The man in question whipped around – was that a mispronunciation, or did someone here actually know his true name?

Oh, damn.

There, standing before him, dressed in her finest Dalmascan silks, her mouth hanging open in shock, stood Queen Ashelia B'nargan Dalmasca.

And he in only his Arcandian brocade.


End file.
